


the stars don't respond

by kickmyhead



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, robin analysis babey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28367451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickmyhead/pseuds/kickmyhead
Summary: You are Robin, and you are a friend of the stars.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46





	the stars don't respond

Your name is Robin, and you can speak to the stars.   
  
Anyone can speak to the stars, you suppose, but you can in such a way where it’s in your bones, in your heart, in your soul, deep and concrete and unchanged after millennia. They are your friends- constant and unchanging and old, older than everybody you’ve ever loved, older than the ground you walk on, older even than you. You sit up on the roof of whatever house that stands that year and you yearn for them, to join them, to be one with the sprawling sky and the inky black and the lights that are prettier than anything that could ever be manufactured. You raise a hand that is younger than it should be and you map out the distance between them- they look so close together but they are so far apart, lonely and cold.

  
You’ve never felt more seen.

Sometimes there are people that are the same as you- they laugh and joke and dance and sing and squabble with you and for a while it’s wonderful- a connection that is another star in the galaxy of you, but they leave, and that star loses its shine. After a while, more join, but this time you have less trust, feel more hesitant to connect. These people don’t know you, not really, but pretend that they do, try to pretend that you’re  _ friends _ , but you shake your head and respond that they’ll never be your friends like the stars are, that your connection with them is  _ nothing, is a blip  _ to the connection that you have with your constant companions. They’re hurt, but they leave, so none of it matters, not in the end, not when you’re still there, unseen and hurting and not sure how to heal. 

Somebody joins you.

He’s good natured, and quick-witted, and he…  _ stays _ . He stays and chirps a good morning to you, and the kicker is he doesn’t expect anything. He doesn’t expect a friendship or a good morning back, he just does it? And the concept is so boggling that you ignore it, leave it to scab over like every other thing in your death, but it stays, growing and swelling and becoming more stifling until eventually you can’t take it anymore and you ask him  _ why _ . He frowns, almost as if it’s obvious, and says that you live together, why wouldn’t he? And it makes so much sense that you start grunting  _ good morning  _ back, and he’s happy. You’ve made someone happy, and it’s- it’s so much better. That night, you tell the stars, and they smile at you. 

  
Another joins, and you’re friends. She’s knowledgeable and handy, and chatters endlessly about cooking and pleasantries and curses and cures and you find yourself listening, find yourself being sucked into this person’s story. She stays too, stays and smiles and explains and cares and you find another connection, another star that doesn’t fade. You start to talk more, and she talks back, and Humphrey joins in, and you’re  _ friends, you’re all friends.  _ She’s angry occasionally, but it’s- it’s in a way that’s never occurred to you. She’s angry at the situation, angry at even the stars, and while you’re quick to jump to their defense you sort of understand what she means. That night you tell the stars and they stay an odd sort of quiet. 

Another person joins, and she’s not angry, not at all. She grows to normality easily, accepts her environment with a beam and a jovial exclamation but you can sense something old and deep in her bones, older than you’d expect. It’s a wave of something, crashing and eroding, and soon you learn the word for it. Sadness. You try to resolve it, everything used to be so easily resolved, either with time, words, or violence, but she brushes you off. Smiles at you and tells you she’s perfectly okay, and that night you ask the stars what to do, and they don’t respond. A second-hand guilt scorches your throat, extinguishes your words, and all you can do is wait. Wait for it to be ready to be bandaged. 

Time moves on, and they’ve all been there for a reasonable enough amount of time that you can trust them. Depend on them. You keep your guard up, you try not to get too attached, but you allow yourself to be seen a little, and you allow yourself to be loved, and in your head it’s not just Robin and The Stars anymore, it’s Robin and Mary and Kitty and Humphrey and The Stars. You’re setting yourself up for failure, you know that, that they could leave any moment, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to care.


End file.
